PONDERING ANN: IV

MORNING SHOWER 

I have bent my hand 

into the shape of a

chewed orange slice, or 

a telephone cord curl,

just so that the droplets

of tap water draining

from the showerhead

roll down and appear 

to pool from the very

tips of my fingers. 

I am staring for 

too long, and soap 

has started to fall into

my eyes. I’m trying 

to catch the bits of

life we let slip 

through the cracks.

Like in the law quad, 

how symmetrical gothic 

arches are adorned by 

gargoyles

jutting their tongues

at each passerby.
Or the child today 

sitting in the greenery,

with her jam stained

hand stolen into one 

pocket of a yellow 

raincoat, the Morton

Salt kind, and making

the same gargoyle

face right back! And 

although she did not 

win that tongue-out 

staring contest, she 

gave the stone creatures 

a run for their stone

money. 

. 

This is a miracle.
No shooting stars 

or runaway eyelashes.
This is it! All

this living makes

me think of the 

time my lover and I

walked the banks

of Lake Michigan 

and paused to gaze

at the cold pools below. 

Oh, the warmth

as our stretched smiles

filled the air, cackling

at the sight of a lime

green electric scooter

hurled into the depths

below. You could just

make out the shape of

of its handlebars,

the rear wheel, and

we smushed our cheeks 

together like two

rotten apples, laughing 

at this work 

of a mad man, or 

an artist, or an architect 

of human nature.